Paging Dr Cartwright
by jublke
Summary: A tag to Episode 5.11, "Sam, Interrupted." Dean's anxiety spirals out of control after they leave the mental institution. Sam is there to pick up the pieces. Anxious!Dean, Caring!Sam. No Wincest, but it could be shipped that way. One-shot.


A tag to Episode 5.11, "Sam, Interrupted." Dean's anxiety spirals out of control after they leave the mental institution. Sam is there to pick up the pieces. Anxious!Dean, Caring!Sam. No Wincest, but it could be shipped that way.

Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. I am just borrowing them for fun.

I'm still fairly new to the fandom, so if you see any continuity or other errors, or if you want to beta any future stories, please drop me a line. Thanks!

* * *

 ** _"You're gonna take all that crap, and bury it. You're gonna forget it, because that's how we keep going." - Dean Winchester, to his brother Sam, upon leaving the Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital_**

Despite what he had told Sam, Dean Winchester was having a hard time burying his emotions. The mental institution was miles behind them now and he had exchanged his safe clothes for a T-shirt, jacket and jeans. But even with his amulet around his neck and his brother by his side, Dean couldn't calm down. His hands clutched and released Baby's wheel as he tried unsuccessfully to ground himself.

He recalled the words Dr. Cartwright had used to describe him: paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic personality disorder and religious psychosis. Except that the doctor hadn't even been real; she was a figment of his imagination. This was his subconscious mind, warning him that he was about to go - had already gone? - dangerously off the rails. Fifty plus drinks a week. Drinking until he blacked out. Sleeping less than four hours a night - on a good night.

 _"God, how do you get up in the morning?"_ his subconscious mind had asked him.

 _"That's a good question,"_ he'd replied.

With effort, Dean managed to unclench his hands before he cracked the steering wheel. "How're you doing there, Sammy?" _Focus, Dean. Focus on Sam._

Except that Dr. Fuller - the real psychiatrist - didn't think that was such a good idea either. _"The relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart will do you both good."_

Dean wasn't sure he could survive without Sammy. Not now. He swallowed, waiting for his brother's reply.

"I'm okay, Dean." There was resignation in Sam's voice.

"Not sick of me yet, are you?" Dean flushed scarlet the minute the words had left his mouth. _Damn, how did I let that slip? I sound like a girl._

Sam rolled his head to stare at Dean, a worried crinkle between his brows. "You all right?"

"Of course. I'm fine." He wasn't fine, of course. Dean's hands began to quiver, and he could feel his body start to tremble, a deep knot of anxiety tangling his guts. _Is that sulphur I'm smelling?_ The edges of his vision flickered red.

"Dude, you're shaking."

Dean turned to glare at Sam but quickly moved his gaze back to the windshield before his kid brother could discover the panic in his eyes. _Driving. I have to keep driving._

"Dean." Sam's voice was softer now, more gentle. "We need to stop for the night."

"No."

He could practically hear his brother's eyes rolling in their sockets. God, what a lovely image. His mind helpfully began to supply him with more: demonic eyes, vampire eyes, wendigo eyes, Alastair's eyes ...

Dean flashed to the last time he had been this anxious. Yellow fever had ratcheted up his anxiety until he couldn't even think about hunting monsters. _"You know who does that?"_ he had told Sam at the time. _"Crazy people. We are insane."_

"Look, Dean, I'm exhausted. I just want to curl up and crash for a day or two." There was a slight pleading in Sam's tone that indicated his brother was worried about him.

"No. We're not stopping." Dean knew his driving had become erratic, but that was only because he couldn't stop shaking. He lifted one jittery hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, and the Impala swerved dangerously close to the double yellow line.

"Dean!" Sam reached over and grabbed the wheel to stabilize it. "You can't keep going like this." He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair.

 _"God, how do you get up in the morning?"_ Memories of the mental institution and his near nervous breakdown played on an endless loop in Dean's mind.

"I can't stop." He spoke in a whisper.

* * *

Sam studied his brother, forcing himself to remain calm and find a safe solution to this problem. Wrenching the steering wheel from his brother's grasp at sixty miles an hour was likely to get them both killed. Something was wrong with Dean, that much he knew. Since trying to get information out of the man was useless, he concentrated on the facts.

Dean's trembling hands were clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. He had begun breathing heavily. A bead of sweat ran down one side of Dean's face, even though he was shaking as if he was terribly cold. And he was blinking his eyes rapidly, the way he sometimes did when he was on the verge of passing out.

Sam quickly ran through his mental catalogue of Dean, and pulled up the first match that fit what he was witnessing: Dean riding on a plane.

 _Oh, shit. He's having a panic attack!_

"Dean, listen to me. Just listen." Sam was relieved when his brother nodded fractionally. "You need to pull over for me, okay?" Dean shook his head emphatically. "I know you're scared."

"You ... don't know ... anything," Dean panted. Sam could feel the engine rev as his brother's foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. The dark landscape was moving by at an alarming rate and Sam felt his heart rate accelerate right along with it.

He took a deep breath. "All right, maybe I don't know everything, Dean. But I do know this. You can't outrun your problems. They're going to catch up to you eventually."

"Not ... helping ... Samantha," Dean ground out. His cheeks were sucking in and out with each breath and he had grown alarmingly pale.

Sam slid across the seat and drew closer to his brother. "Let me help you, then, okay?" He placed his large right hand on the steering wheel to steady it and wrapped his left arm around Dean's shoulder. "Do you remember what you agreed to, after we hunted Leshii at that wax museum? You said you'd let me be an equal partner." Sam could feel his brother's jittery nod. "And that means that you let me take control sometimes." He began to guide the Impala toward the shoulder, but Dean's hands, rigid at 9 o'clock and 3 o'clock, weren't cooperating. Whether that was because Dean couldn't control the steering or because he didn't want to, Sam wasn't sure. "You need to ease off the gas. We have to stop now."

"I can't stop." Again, it was a whisper, but this time, Sam heard the undercurrent of fear, of misery, of bottled up grief.

"Yes, you can. You are stronger than this, Dean. You are strong enough to let me take care of you when you fall apart." He heard a sniff from his brother, but Sam was too focused on the road to look at him. "Now, ease off on the gas ... good ..." The sniffing grew more frequent until Sam heard his brother gulp beside him. Finally, the Impala was still by the side of the road. Sam threw the car into park as Dean dropped his head and buried it in his hands.

Sam didn't say anything. He just rubbed circles on his brother's back and waited.

The older hunter stiffened at the tender touch and bolted upright, revealing red eyes and a blotchy face. As he blinked, a fat tear rolled down one cheek.

Sam's heart clenched. "Come 'ere." He pulled his brother close and wrapped both arms around him. "Shhh. You're all right, Dean. It's going to be okay."

"It's never going to be okay, Sam," Dean hissed, gulping and fighting back tears. "Never!"

Sam ran his large hands up and down Dean's arms in an attempt to ground him. "Maybe not. But right here? Right now? You're safe here. I've got you." He pulled Dean close again, tight enough that his brother's head could rest on his chest. "You need a break, Dean. You have to take some time off. When we're together, all you do is worry about me and I know it's wearing you down."

Dean pulled away, but Sam kept a hand on his shoulder. "I'll always worry about you, Sammy. You're my brother."

Sam forced Dean to look him in the face, determined hazel meeting watery green. "Well, you're my brother, too. And, right now, you need to let me take care of you. Stop shaking your head, Dean."

"Sam -"

"No! Don't even try to give me that - I'm fine, everything is great now - speech. I am driving us to the nearest motel and we are going to take a few days off." With that, Sam exited the car. When he pulled open the driver's side, he stared down at his brother until Dean sighed and slid over to the passenger's side. Once seated, Sam gave Dean a soft smile. "Nothing but beer, bacon cheeseburgers, and pie."

"No salads?" Dean tried to return the smile, but it was faint. He was still shivering, and Sam pulled off his hoodie and tucked it around Dean's shoulders.

"Maybe a salad for me." Sam turned the key in the ignition and pulled back onto the highway.

"What're we going to do?" Dean's eyes began to droop as he snuggled into the warm fabric.

"No hunting. No research. We're not going to answer any calls. I'll let Bobby know we're off the grid for a few days." Sam glanced over at Dean. His brother's eyes were closed and his body had slumped toward the passenger side door. "We're going to watch _Oprah_ and _Dr. Sexy_ all day. I'll even even loan you my laptop so you can visit _Busty Asian Beauties dot com_."

"Mmm. Nice," Dean's breathing was starting to even out, and Sam blew out a sigh of relief. He reached over to reassure himself that Dean was all right. When the man didn't immediately bat his hand away, Sam knew that his brother had fallen asleep. But Sam could still feel him trembling.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam repeated, as he again rubbed slow circles on his brother's back and shoulders. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe here."


End file.
